Chapter Twenty: Petition to the Emperor

Ding Jiang was finished. When Manager Wang received the news that the Fish Gang had been annihilated, he let out a long sigh.

The Fish Gang had once been his most capable enforcers, assisting him in countless shady dealings. Their destruction was entirely unexpected; he had never imagined that Mo Family Village possessed the Duke of Wing’s token and could summon Chief Cao to stand behind them. The arrangements he had believed infallible had collapsed, and he had lost Ding Jiang as a henchman—a considerable blow.

“What a pity!” Manager Wang stood respectfully behind Censor Wang Zhe. Hearing Wang Zhe’s sigh, he hurried to reassure him, “Master, you worry too much. It was only a small Fish Gang. When I return, I’ll gather another group who will be just as diligent in serving you.”

“Fool, it’s not the Fish Gang I care about,” Wang Zhe replied with irritation. “I’m speaking of the Mo Family’s secret technique for keeping fish alive. If such a miraculous skill were in the hands of the Wang family, its value would be immeasurable. The entire fisheries of the empire could be controlled by us.”

Manager Wang’s heart trembled. He had not realized the breadth of Wang Zhe’s ambitions, nor that he had failed so greatly.

“Rest assured, Master. When I return, I’ll arrange everything and ensure the secret technique is taken,” Manager Wang promised.

“It’s too late!” Wang Zhe shook his head. With the Duke of Wing's support, obtaining the Mo Family Village’s secret technique was now impossible.

“Is there really no chance at all?” Manager Wang asked, unwilling to accept it. In his mind, Wang Zhe’s influence was immense; he had always managed to resolve any issue before.

“There is always a chance,” Wang Zhe smiled. “If we cannot have it for ourselves, we’ll make Mo Family Village reveal the secret to all.”

“How could Mo Family Village willingly disclose it?” Manager Wang doubted that, after fighting so fiercely for the secret, they would simply give it away for nothing.

“Relax, they will,” Wang Zhe said confidently. “Servants, bring me my official robes. It’s time for court.”

Wang Zhe gazed at the eastern sky, where dawn was breaking, and took a deep breath.

As an emperor—especially one with blemishes and guilt—Li Shimin was diligent beyond compare. He strove to fashion himself into a wise ruler, hoping to justify the coup at the Xuanwu Gate, proving he was the best fit to lead the nation. Indeed, he succeeded.

It was said that Qin Shi Huang reviewed a hundred and twenty jin of memorials each day; if Li Shimin’s paperwork were carved into bamboo slips, the quantity would be no less.

After Li Shimin finished his daily affairs, Head Eunuch Pang De called out, “Speak if you have matters to present; otherwise, court is dismissed.”

“I have a memorial, Your Majesty,” Wang Zhe stepped forward.

“Proceed,” Li Shimin replied with renewed attention.

Wang Zhe glanced at Qin Qiong, who stood in the front row, and spoke loudly, “I wish to impeach Mo Dun, the founding county baron, for openly engaging in commerce, competing with the people for profit, and for his personal gain, wielding weapons in Chang’an, an act bordering on rebellion.”

“Mo Dun, the founding county baron?” Li Shimin looked at Pang De with confusion. Since his accession, he was familiar with all his meritorious officials, yet could not recall a Mo Dun among them.

“I believe he is the son of Mo Lie, the founding county marquis,” Pang De said hesitantly.

“Oh! Mo Lie!” Li Shimin’s eyes lit up as he remembered the young general who had died prematurely—a sorrowful memory.

“Yes, the son of Mo Lie, the founding county baron. He is nearly fifteen, yet very shrewd and unruly. Though he holds an imperial title, he seeks small profits, selling fish for gain, and, due to disputes, fought with Ding Jiang the fish merchant in the streets of Chang’an. I ask Your Majesty to order a thorough investigation of this petty man,” Wang Zhe declared with apparent righteousness.

“Oh! My baron is selling fish? Such a thing!” Li Shimin was intrigued more by the baron’s fish-selling than by the street fight, which was common in Chang’an.

“Your Majesty, I can confirm that Mo Dun indeed sold fish in Chang’an. I witnessed it myself—an event that shook the entire city,” Ma Zhou stepped forward. He was the scholar in blue who had seen Mo Dun’s first entry into Chang’an—a noble youth hawking fish along the street without a change in expression.

“It certainly did shake the city. For a founding county baron to sell fish, how could it not?” Wei Zheng stepped out with a sardonic tone. Upright by nature, he could not tolerate even the smallest flaw, and the idea of a baron selling fish deeply offended him—an embarrassment to the empire.

“Lord Wei may not know, but the event I speak of was significant for another reason. Has Lord Wei heard of the two phrases recently sweeping through Chang’an—‘the secret technique for keeping fish alive’ and ‘the catfish effect’?” Ma Zhou asked respectfully.

“‘Catfish effect’ and ‘secret technique for keeping fish alive!’” The ministers suddenly understood.

“What is this ‘catfish effect’ and ‘secret technique’?” Li Shimin inquired.

“Your Majesty, the secret technique and the catfish effect were introduced to Chang’an when Mo Dun came to sell fish,” Ma Zhou recounted the story of Mo Family Village’s fish-selling in Chang’an.

“The catfish effect! Mozi possessed great wisdom and noble virtue, keeping faith for a thousand years!” Li Shimin’s eyes shone, moved by Mozi’s story.

Those present at court were all extraordinary figures. With their insight, they readily grasped the catfish effect, a method many had themselves employed.

“That may be, but a founding county baron should not engage in commerce. It brings disgrace to the empire,” Wei Zheng said with displeasure.

“Lord Wei is absolutely right. Such a petty man is unworthy of his imperial rank—a shame to the emperor’s favor,” Wang Zhe quickly added.

Li Shimin nodded slightly. After all, a county baron engaging in trade violated imperial law, and allowing his followers to fight in Chang’an could not go unpunished.

Li Shimin was about to order an investigation when Qin Qiong stepped forward and bowed. “Your Majesty, I plead for Mo Family Village.”

Qin Qiong’s intervention astonished all present. The Duke of Wing was known for his caution, rarely involving himself in state affairs. No one expected him to publicly oppose Wang Zhe on this occasion.

“Qin, speak your mind—is there some hidden matter?” Li Shimin was surprised. He had never seen the reserved Qin Qiong plead for Mo Family Village.

“Mo Family Village is the poorest in all of Chang’an,” Qin Qiong said, causing an uproar in the court.

“Impossible!”

“That poor?”

…

Many at court held noble titles, and while their estates were not rich, they were certainly better off than ordinary villages.

“Better to marry anyone than to Mo Family Village; better to remain at the riverside,” Ma Zhou sighed.

A collective gasp echoed among the ministers. The line was telling—no one would willingly marry into Mo Family Village, preferring hardship elsewhere. How poor must it be?

“Is it due to Mo Dun’s harsh taxes or the villagers’ laziness?” Li Shimin asked gravely.

Qin Qiong shook his head. “No. Mo Family Village is the fief of Mo Lie, the founding county marquis, who was granted a thousand households. The villagers are mostly retired, disabled veterans from the Divine Craftsmen Battalion, all loyal to Mo Lie. Mo Lie and his son Mo Dun uphold the Mo Family’s principle of universal love, treating all disabled veterans equally. As a result, Mo Lie is the only noble with a real thousand households. The population is large, the land poor, and they are not skilled at farming. Each year, Mo Lie and his son must use their stipends to supplement the village, barely making ends meet.”

As Qin Qiong spoke, he glanced at the civil officials; many lowered their heads in guilt. The rivalry between Confucians and Mohists was intense. As disciples of Confucius, they had not hesitated to allocate barren land to the Mo Family, leaving them with insufficient harvests each year.

Li Shimin was deeply moved. He had not realized Mo Family Village was so impoverished, nor that Mo Lie and his son were so loyal and righteous.

“Mo Lie!” Li Shimin recalled the man who had earned the respect of all—a figure forever clad in black, with a face as resolute as one carved by knife and axe, driven by the mission to promote the Moist philosophy. He remained unforgettable.